Bad Advice
by whycantideleteanaccount
Summary: Jared considered himself as pretty "go with the flow", but even he'd admit last night went, well, he can't remember. He barely remembers how he ended up strapped to an antique dentist's chair with a some pretty boy griping across the room. Who knows? Maybe he's able to talk himself out of the leather bindings. Damn, his head really hurt... (Pre-Game fic. AN at the end)


A metal door slammed shut, and Jaden's eyes sprung open. His head swiveled towards the long doorway leading out of this stone, hexagonal room, his neck straining while a worn, leather strap held down his chest. The footsteps were heavy but uneven, the slaps of hard soles against plain tiles growing louder with each step. Jaden swallowed a dry mouthful and rest his head against the stiff, dentist-chair padding, careful as to not agitate the slash across the right side of his scalp.

He wished silence would return. Hell, he'd even take the invisible taunts again. Only a week ago, he and his fiancée were fighting over dumb wedding decorations, and now he wondered whether he had time to make everything up.

Jaden closed his eyes again and sighed. If he ever made it out of this alive, he'd never let himself doubt his inner introvert, the one voice inside his head that screeched to leave the bar and go home. Even his high school graduation party had fared better than this, and the memory of being caught streaking by his dad-an on-duty cop at the time—still burned his face with embarrassment whenever it streaked through his thoughts.

The footsteps sped up and grew louder at a faster pace; it was climbing down the stairs. On the bright side, Jaden thought, whatever it is sounds like it's got two legs. His scalp pulled against the pleather padding as he wobbled his head and stared at the ceiling. In absence of a lightbulb shined a sphere, a little ball of light one would see in fantasy films. It glowed a pale yellow and so it didn't hurt when Jaden stared at it earlier. Connections to high school physics failed his curiosity; how could this dim bathe a room in such a room in such a sickly, consistent glow?

As the guest's audible pace approached the room's entrance, Jaden wondered whether the light was magic. None of his night made sense, and the existence of magic made no sense; it was a perfect conclusion, he thought, considering the circumstances. God, the gash _really_ throbbed now.

A smoky, almost bell-like voice rang out, disrupting Jaden's musings. "Those _fucking_ bastards. I swear they're all monks!" For the second time since the door closed, Jaden's opened his eyes, curious to the new sounds.

A boy? He didn't sound old enough to _drink._

Lifting himself up as best he could, Jaden watched what looked like a teenager enter, the boy's face contorted in frustration yet still beautiful. All the locker-room shame from his own adolescent years that lay suppressed behind fond memories of touchdowns and various first-times came back in a wave of nausea. Looking pissed beyond all hell and the boy could still pass as a Renaissance carving. He was sure pale enough to be one, although Jaden blamed the magic lighting mixed with whatever spirits lingered and swam through his bloodstream.

The boy didn't acknowledge Jaden, instead rushing towards the wall behind him, the one area he had yet to see. Based on the weapons and odd devices strapped and hooked to the other five walls he _could_ see, Jaden guessed more instruments of torture decorated it. His suspicion only grew as he heard the clanking of metal scraping against a holder of some sort. Despite the decorations and headache, Jaden felt no more unease than he would before a test he didn't study for or a funeral. Heavy weight sat in his stomach, somber yet solidifying his presence. The air was cool and carried a hint of sterile metal along with rot; it was a strong smell, and Jaden focused on his rather than the other person.

All the while, the boy continued cursing. "'Present,' my ass." He walked straight back into a comfortable line of site for Jaden, rushing to roll up a black sleeve. The floating ball of light mimicked those found above a doctor's operating table, glinting against a thin scalpel in the boy's hand. Jaden's heart thumped, but his gut was steady.

Not bothering to let the scalpel change hands, he rolled up the other sleeve, revealing a stark black tattoo winding up his forearm. Before Jaden connected the shape to anything coherent, the boy turned his back to consider another wall of tools with varying degrees of shine, many of which suggested past use. Jaden didn't dare to make a sound, much less ask the boy what he planned to do.

The scalpel danced over his fingers, playing with the tool and not once nicking himself with the blade. He laughed. "'A reward,' they said." Shaking his head, he turned to Jaden. Of course, he didn't look at him. A glaze coated his face; Jaden wasn't sure if the boy saw him or if he was staring off into space. No longer tensed, a teetering blankness.

Biting his cheek, the boy shifted and held the scalpel like an artist pulling back in brush in thought, his elbow at a sharp bend while the other arm crossed over his chest. The blade pointing away, he tapped the blunt end against his cheek and shook his head again, this time cocking it away from the tool. A choked laughed rumbled in his throat and a bitter, thin-lipped smile cracked his face.

And then he plunged the blade into Jaden's left thigh.

It cut clean through the old denim and fatty tissue, and Jaden felt metal scraping against his femur bone in a ghastly screech that travelled through his body. Screaming, his entire body flinched, his fish clenched into tight balls.

The boy gave the scalpel a twist and let go, earning him a throaty, "Ah!" Jaden's muscles throbbed around the stem of the tool, tightening hard enough that he felt the beginnings of a charley horse in his calf.

No, do not add to the torture, he thought, breathing hard and fast through flared nostrils. Groaning, Jaden forced his wounded leg to rest against the bent chair.

"Huh," the boy mused, "Some shit reward you're turning out to be. One stab in and you're already bitching."

Jaden looked away from the erect scalpel protruding out of his own flesh and turned toward the boy whom was now looking back. Yes, he was far too pretty to be in a scum place like this. Jaden gritted his teeth and tore his eyes away from the crazed blue opposite to him. Or maybe that's how they lure you in, with gentle, misleading faces and physiques, mastering a chameleon effect while maintaining the venom of black widow. It scared him.

"What? Can't stand looking at me?" He slammed the hand attached to the tattooed arm onto the far armrest, his torso hovering over Jaden's. Clamping the other under his chin, he yanked and Jaden's line of sight was forced onto the boy. "Didn't you learn manners of something? You're not supposed to avoid eye-contact."

"Yea? They don't exactly teach torture etiquette in home ec." His eyebrows shot up, and Jaden regretted those words then. His tongue shriveled and became a dry chalk in his mouth as the boy drew his hands away along with his invading presence. Still pulsing, Jaden's own warm blood seeped into his pants, more of the starchy fabric now sticking to his wet thigh.

He lifted a hand, and Jaden closed his eyes and flinched away. To his surprise, the boy didn't smack him, instead running it through his snow-white locks. "Heh, didn't think of you to be sarcastic considering, well, this." The hand left his hair and swept wide across the room. That was good, right?

Testing the waters, Jaden wet his mouth to rid himself of some anxiety. _Focus on your center_ : advice he was taught to hand out, and now he had to take it, too. "What do you mean by 'reward'?" The boy looked at him again, his courage shrinking into a husk, but he pushed forward, "And w-who's they?"

"You're not a reward. If anything, you're a poor attempt made to distract me." He scoffed and gripped the scalpel's handle. "Monks," he insulted and ripped it out of the wound. Jaden's throat squeaked, but seeing as how it angered him earlier, he restrained from making too much noise. Yes, if he could avoid it, Jaden refused to scream again.

"Monks?" Like, Friar Tuck and scratchy robe clad men?

"They didn't want to create conflict between us, and so they're taking the pacifist's route. Hence, monks." It was an insult he realized albeit one that made no sense in today's world.

Using the scalpel as a teacher uses a rod to point at a map, the boy gestured toward Jaden's head. "What happened there?"

Ah yes, the head wound from before. The boy's question carried no concerned tone—not that Jaden expected one—but it was rather light, almost as if it was asked out of mundane curiosity. "Uh, that," he started, his voice a pitch higher without his normal bass, "Got clocked in the head with a Bud Light." Jaden sank into the padded chair and let himself continue. Lightening the mood strengthened the weight in his stomach and might even prolong whatever fate he faced here; it always worked with the would-be-in-laws. "It's funny. After I got hit, the party turned into a blur. The last thing I remember is a black hole and old voices whispering, almost like grandmas swapping recipes in church." Jaden chuckled. "All hushed."

The corner of his torturer's mouth turned up at the comparison. Okay, maybe the graduation party still held the title of "Worst Party in Jaden Vanderkamp's Life" after all. What a small stab compared to a father's shame?

His head cocked to one side, and the blade's position lowered, still pointing in Jaden's general direction. "So you have no idea what's going on, do you?"

"Not the slightest idea," Jaden said before flicking his eyes between the boy and the knife in his hand, dripping a bit of his blood over his shirt, "Well, except for that."

The boy's lips peeled back and revealed a perfect smile any model would envy, straighter and brighter than brand-new mortuary cabinets. He barked out a laugh that rumbled like the bells of Notre Dame. Not knowing what to do, Jaden smiled back, but his cheeks felt stiff like it was the wrong thing to do.

"'Well, except for _that_.' Oh, you're a riot." Laughter tickled the back of his throat as he spoke. Setting the scalpel on a nearby shelf along with what looked like sharpened forks and long tweezers—Jaden resisted the urge to sigh in relief—the physically perfect boy leaned against the one spot of wall that didn't carry the toys of nightmares, which was the door frame. "Where did they find you?"

"Saugatuck," Jaden answered. The air in the hexagonal torture chamber felt smoother, more breathable, but he knew that it wasn't likely to last long. He might as well savor the banter while he still could. "And, uh, I don't believe you answered my question."

The boy raised an eyebrow, and Jaden pressed forward. "Who are 'they'?"

He raised his head and made an 'o' shape with his mouth. "Right," he said, drawing out the word, "I'm talking about the other members of my kind." He rolled his eyes. "My Elders or Ancestors, if you will. You really don't remember them?" Jaden shook his head. "Huh, usually players are more aware than this," he mumbled.

"Players?"

"We—my Elders and I—act out various roles both in life and the afterlife. Above all, we are known as cruel gamblers." He crossed his arms over his chest, and although Jaden had to strain his neck again to keep the boy in his sights, he thought his stance looked bolder, proud even. Smiling, he continued:

"I'm sure you're more familiar with Judeo-Christian stories than, I don't know, Norse or Germanic mythology?" Jaden nodded his head. "Thought so. The Middle East has always had an affinity for moralistic narratives, so you probably know this one already.

"There was a Hebrew man by the name Job. All his life, Job was blessed with wealth, love, and security from everyone. His family, his community, his servants, and most importantly, his Lord. Each and every cell in his blessed body cried out praises for Him, and all was good.

"One day, Lucifer came before Job's God and saw the bountiful blessings Job possessed and begged the following question: Would this man be so willing to worship and pray to God if his lot in life turned to absolute shit? In a deal struck with God, he stripped all that Job had and more, leaving him to be a sickly husk and without a copper piece to his once-loved name." The boy snorted and sneered. "Course, the story ends with your devil losing that bet. Job's will was stronger than he anticipated. Word of advice, never go into a bet overestimating yourself." He shrugged. "Unless you're me," he tacked onto the phrase.

Jaden processed the familiar story. "So, you're saying you're like the Devil?"

"I am a devil," he replied as casually as one shares their name with a new classmate or coworker. "My mythology just happens to originate further north than some desert."

"Ah." Jaden exhaled a loud breath. Despite the news, he still felt pleasant. Maybe his fiancée was right; Jaden was too go-with-the-flow. He made a mental note to buy Chey a bouquet once he was out. . .

Oh. If this boy was truly a devil, then what does that make Jaden?

 _Fuck. Am I dead? Is this Hell?_

Clearing his throat, he thumped the back of his head against the leather padding. Luckily, his head felt better, or was that still the work of the bleeding wound in his thigh? Did it matter? "Am I dead?"

"Not yet."

"Oh, good. I can still buy flowers." The words flew past his lips before the thought crossed his mind.

"What the f-," the boy cut himself off, "That's your concern?"

Jaden laughed and felt the leather strap across his chest attempt to restrain the rumbling movement. "I was just thinking about—shit that was yesterday, wasn't it—yesterday." He clicked his tongue. "Had a fight with my fiancée, and I figured it'd be hard to make it up to her if I were dead."

"It's easier than you think, depending on what you want to get her."

"Huh?"

The boy smiled. "Once you know how to interact on the physical plane, creativity will take you far in romance, I think."

"Ha, you speak from experience?" he teased, and the room dropped a few degrees, the scent of his own cooling blood becoming more apparent. When Jaden lifted his head again, he saw the boy glaring blue knifes. "Shit, sorry. Did she dump you, ah, shit," a small ripple of discovering his own stupidity traveled through him, "I never got your name?"

His response was curt. "She didn't dump me." Swiveling to look down the hallway, white threads of hair dancing around his sculpted ears, he leaned forward and stilled. Satisfied with the silence, he faced Jaden. "You can call me Julian."

"Got a last name?"

"I don't think I need one."

"Fair point," he agreed, "I'm Jaden, by the way." Shifting back to a lax lying position, his thigh flinched in pain, and yet despite the pain, Jaden didn't feel alarmed. That's no to say it the stab wound didn't bother him, and so he clamped his teeth together. Maybe stifling any reminders of the situation—groans of pain, for example—this Julian character might forget the purpose here if only for a moment more.

Julian wet his lips and sighed. "Yea, and she didn't dump me." A resigned tone tainted his clear voice.

Jaden did his best to shrug while strapped. "If you're not happy in the relationship, you should just leave her."

"You know, you should stop while you're ahead. I don't need," Julian stopped midsentence, a smug, twisted grin spread across his face, " _Relationship Advice_ , and especially not from someone fighting with his own fiancée."

A quick apology fumbled out of Jaden. "By the way, do you mind putting pressure on my leg? I don't fancy bleeding out."

"Why would I do that?"

Jaden's mouth dried. "I guess. . . Yea, that was kind of a long-shot request."

Jaden eyed the wall opposite to Julian. Before, the tools and various devices bore the warning of many possible fates Jaden could suffer. Now that he had a face to his torturer—as indeed, he was confirmed to be—pale hands to hold and use the instruments, Jaden felt sick. Or maybe that was the blood loss. Or the Bud Light. One of the things dangling from a tiny hook protruding off the wall looked like a potato-skin peeler, and Jaden felt sicker.

At least the conversation was nice while it lasted.

Feet shuffled against the tiles, and Jaden listened as Julian returned to the wall behind the chair. The slick sound of metal rubbing against metal returned, but it wasn't like a sword extracted from its sheath. Bells? No, that can't be it. Jaden's fingers twitched, causing his wrists to rub against their rough bindings. Instincts told him he wouldn't get out of the chair long enough—or sane enough—to examine the red burns that were sure to appear.

Please no, he thought when Julian returned into his view wearing blunt silver spikes along his knuckles, resembling bear claws. Oh dear God, he's going to rake me alive!

"What's she like?" The question blurted out of Jaden while Julian clenched his fist, eyeing the way the metallic rings pressed against his own flesh.

He stopped to glare at Jaden who in turn pressed deeper into the chair.

"No," Julian said, "You don't get to talk about her. Not here." Glancing at the brass knuckles another time, he swung. All four spikes met with Jaden's left cheek and jaw, his esophagus burning from the fast movement.

"She's right, you know." Another punch and this Jaden heard the crunch of his nose before he felt the break. "You're too much of a people-pleaser. Too bad you forgot." Warmth gushed out of his crushed nostrils, and his jaw hurt too much to move, to dare move his lips so he could breathe. "I'm not actually a person." Another landed on the same cheek, closer to the peak of his bone. The impact forced his jaw to spring open, a throaty yell escaping his mouth to ricochet and echo off the walls. The room was small, and his voice jumped back to him. It mixed with the sound of his speeding heartbeat.

 _Bu-duhAaaaaBu-duhaaBu-duhaaBa-duhBa-duh._

Jaden's suppressed lungs burst and a creaking cough hacked itself out of him. Some of the blood dribbling down his face sprayed into the air along with excess saliva. Although his chest jumped with the motion, the leather straps that used to be just a nuisance became a true binding. The gash in his scalp hurt before, but this. . . Jaden's whole face stung.

Gasping for breath, Jaden inhaled enough air to wheeze, "How—how did you know that? What she thinks?" How could this mood-swinging demon know her or her complaints? He couldn't have said anything. He didn't say anything, right? God, his head raced, running pain-hazy thoughts and bleeding life out across his broken face.

Julian laughed. Something haunted the tone like it was just a pitch too high to belong to a sane man. "I told you I'm a gambler, and the best condition to go into a bet is when you can read the person you're swindling." He rubbed his wrist more for show than for a practical purpose; the glee he emitted told he felt anything but pain. "Of course, I can't uncover everything about you, Jaden Albert O'Malley, but I can figure out enough to get by."

"You know, you kind of remind me of him, Jenny's _boyfriend_ ," and when he said that last word, Jaden tasted the loathing Julian built up around the guy. Sour like vinegar left in a compost pile "He's the kind of guy who can't stop swaggering, polishing his presence to impress others. Almost like a peacock trying to find a good fuck." His words grew harsher and he punched again. Cartilage shifted, creating almost a squishing sound when it smashed against broken shards of bone.

Spitting a large gob of blood and mucus out to slick down his chin and neck, Jaden asked in what he figured to be a vain attempt at peace, "Jenny? That's her name?" With a broken nose, the vowels sounded heavily congested.

"She deserves more than that sweaty, bulky failure of evolution." His arm raised again, gearing to land another blow.

"What? Is he ugly?"

Julian paused mid-strike, and cocked his head. The action was swift, and through the pounding in his head, Jaden heard a distinct _Pop_. In a grim voice, Julian said, "She certainly doesn't seem to think so."

"That's rough."

Julian turned to glance back-and-forth between the doorway and Jaden's blood-splattered mug. "Some distraction you're turning out to be," he mumbled.

"If I can't distract you, how about I help you?" His head whipped back to Jaden, and he wanted the chair to swallow him whole under the toxic blue gaze. Jaden spit out another mouthful of blood—God, was that a tooth he felt coming loose? "I was a psych major, and I know a lot about helping people."

"How many times must I repeat myself? I'm not a person." He scoffed and wiped the blood from the silver spikes onto his black, button-up shirt. "To put it simply, my mind doesn't work like yours. Classical conditioning and Freudian logic can't be applied to me."

Jaden laughed and it hurt, but he did it anyway. Everything hurt.

"Freud's a sex-crazed maniac. His methods are out-of-date. What I'm talking about is how to win her away from that bulky boyfriend of hers." When Julian said nothing, he continued. "I'm guessing he's an athlete? Poster-child for the middle-class American?"

"Don't forget egotistical and narcissistic."

"Then I can also safely guess he's about as vanilla as they come. Forgive me for asking, but does she dress conservatively?"

"At his request."

Keep going, his body urged him, and make him listen. Slow down and reevaluate your position, his brain screamed. Sorry, but the pain's winning. "Trust me when I say the girls raised that way are the most suppressed by their surroundings. She's probably unconsciously craving excitement, and she's not going to get any of that from mini-Kirk Cameron."

"What are you suggesting?"

Jaden spit out another mouthful of blood and saliva. He mouth still tasted of iron despite his efforts.

"Excite her." Fuck, his face killed, and now his damned leg wouldn't stop twitching. Whatever had touched the scalpel before pierced his thigh wasn't sanitary, and Jaden feared an infection would catch if he didn't leave soon. There was no way he'd ever get out. Julian himself said he was playing him, much like a poker player plays the person across the table rather than the cards in his hands and in the river. The odds were against him, and shit, this poor girl to have this devil lusting after her!

Fuck the odds and moral-shit; he needed out. "Make her realize all that she's been wanting. She deserves more? Prove that you can give her more."

Jaden almost cried as he saw the gears spin in Julian's not-at-all-human mind, the cutting blue softening as he thought.

Maybe he'd get out of here after all, and whatever had happened the night before wouldn't matter. The blank spot where a memory should've been didn't control him. His fiancée could even forgive him. Julian himself said Jaden wasn't yet dead, and as long as that remained a fact, he could make proper amends.

He still had one chance!

Unsure of where he was or whether anyone could hear past the metallic, hexagonal torture chamber, Jaden prayed for an end to come soon. His eyelids clamped shut in concentration, the muscles scrunching his eyebrows together aiding to further rip open the multiple tiny tears now littering his face. His wounded leg continued twitching.

"Yea. . . I can do that." Julian hummed. "Excite her? That'll be easy." Jaden heard the brass knuckles slip out of Julian's hand and land with a _Clang._ "Fuck! Why didn't I think of that before?" Julian exhaled a smoky breath and chuckled; Jaden never knew a man to have so many different laughs.

Right, Julian was no man.

As he paced the floor around the chair, Julian slipped into a language that Jaden didn't understand. Whatever it was sounded ancient, almost carrying the choppy, hacking sound of German or Danish.

When he got home, Jaden promised himself he'd buy flowers, no, make breakfast in bed for Gabby. He wanted to smother her in a hug, and kiss her until they both forget what they fought about, forget about his new unemployment status, forget that he applied the employee discount to all his customers, forget the lawsuit. Jaden wanted to watch her warm skin blossom in a hot blush when he kissed down her neck. He wanted her, to be there with her right then.

When he got home, he was going to be a better fiancé, a better future husband, provider, lover, and friend.

Jaden felt the scalpel plunge into his lungs, forcing apart vital bits of tissue. He couldn't gasp, and so his eyes opened. His heart beat, the muscle making the handle dance and wiggle upright in the air.

"I don't say this often, but thank you. Hopefully, this will be over soon." Julian shrugged and grasped the rough handle. "It's all I can offer at this point. If my Elders knew you offered me advice that I'd follow, much less let you _go,_ I'd get flayed." With that, he twisted the scalpel, and the blade within Jaden's chest shredded more of his heart. When Julian tugged it out, Jaden didn't feel the gush of blood spurting out of his chest.

Was it getting colder? It must be; Jaden shivered until he no longer felt the cold, until he felt nothing.

* * *

AN Hello! This story is the product of my own headcanon. When I actually thought about it, it wouldn't make sense for Julian to watch Jenny for almost a decade if he was just going to steal her away. But who would plant the idea in his head, I thought. I feel like the plan to win her was birthed sometime after she entered her sophomore or junior year when it became more apparent how real her relationship with Tom is.

Maybe I need to stop thinking about this book for once ;-;

Anyway, what didja think? I LOVE brutal honesty.

Also, I'm open for requests in this fandom. PM ;)


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